


Great Things

by HelenTheMoon



Series: In Which the World Makes No Sense [4]
Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Brainwashing, Drug Use, False Memories, Gen, Genetic Engineering, Novelization, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 17:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20709875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenTheMoon/pseuds/HelenTheMoon
Summary: Rapture in snapshots, as seen through Jack's eyes.





	Great Things

_“My name is Andrew Ryan, and I’m here to ask you a simple question. Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow? No, says the man in Washington, it belongs to the poor. No, says the man in Vatican, it belongs to God. No, says the man in Russia, it belongs to everyone. I rejected those answers. Instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible. I chose…”._

The screen – window panel withdrew to reveal the ocean seabed. But soon the rock covered in corals disappeared from sight. Jack could _never_ have imagined the sight that would follow.

_“Rapture.”._

At the bottom of the ocean laid a _city_. Immensely tall skyscrapers – could they really be called that? – and equally gigantic statues of men holding the city upright, all that in that Art Deco style that had died out in the thirties. Huge neon signs and light projectors illuminated the otherwise black ocean. All the buildings were connected with multiple glass tubes and hallways. Various sea creatures were swimming in the city – Jack even spotted a whale. How – how was any of this even possible? Did he die in that plane crash without realizing it?

_“A city”_, continued the voice of Andrew Ryan, _“where the artist need not fear the censor, where the scientist won’t be bound by… petty morality, where the great won’t be constrained by the small…! And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city as well.”._

That city was by far the most ludicrous and at the same time wondrous thing that Jack had ever seen. He remembered the words of his parents. _“Child, you were born to do great things.”_. Well, it does not get any greater than this.

* * *

“Now, inject this in your hand, like a doctor would.”.

For a moment there Jack wondered if Atlas was being serious. He was currently holding an oversized hypodermic syringe filled with a blue glowing liquid, which he had found laying around and he had no idea what it was. And now Atlas was asking him to _inject_ it in himself!?

Then again, if he refused, Atlas would bug him about it all the way through this hellhole, and that man obviously knew more about the city than _he_ did.

Jack rolled up his left sleeve and revealed the chain tattoo in his wrist. He always had it – he had never wondered why though. A part of his thought that this was strange, but he had long since dismissed those thoughts. Somehow he already knew where he should do the injection; right bellow the tattoo. Jack clenched his fist and teeth. _It’s now or never._ With a decisive move he buried the syringe in his forearm.

The pain that followed was not the needle’s fault.

Jack felt like he was being struck by static electricity – only much stronger. He could feel the electricity flowing through his veins, burning him and freezing him simultaneously from the inside out. He screamed in pain. Just – what – was – this thing!

“Take it easy, boyo! You’re genetic code is being rewritten!”, said Atlas over the radio. He added something else but Jack ignored him. Take it _easy_!? Here his _genetic code was being rewritten_ and Atlas wanted him to _take it easy_? What the hell was in the syringe!?

The pain only intensified, if that was even possible. Yet under the pain, Jack found something else. Amongst the chaos, he found harmony.

Darkness overtook him.

When Jack regained his senses, a strange sensation filled his being. He did not feel tired or in pain, save for the pounding in his head from the rather impressive fall from the stairs. He did not even feel uncomfortable. But there was something in there. Something inside him. He could feel it in his body, running through his veins. He felt like a different person.

“Kicks like a mule first time ‘round”, commented Atlas over the radio – no shit, Sherlock! – “but there’s nothin’ like a fistful of lightnin’ now, is there?”.

Lightning. That’s right; the injection from earlier… Jack tried to get up. This… lightning he was feeling had overtaken every fibber of his existence, and he was afraid that moving would make it burst. He slowly, gently even, tried to shift his position, and he was surprised when he felt the energy shift in accordance to his movements. He tried to flex his fingers. Electricity cracked. Jack did not feel old powerful, as one would expect, but the feeling of it was… exhilarating.

It took a long time for Jack to place his emotions. But once he did, he was astonished by this small revelation. He felt… complete.

* * *

Killing was far too easy.

Was it really supposed to be like that? The weight of the wrench in his hand was almost reassuring. The kick of the gun had turned into a confirmation that the bullet had hit its intended target. The crackle of the electricity in his fingertips caused by Electro Bolt after a few shots had become a second nature. The flames of Incernate! would not burn him. The ice of Winter Blast was no longer cold to him. The wind of Cyclone Trap was his to master. Even the sight of his skin cracking open and reveal a swarm of bees – the Insect Swarm plasmid – was no longer disturbing.

All those… Splicers. Monsters? Mutants? People? What were they? He did not know. But he knew this: he felt no remorse when killing them. Jack was horrified when he realized it. No matter what the circumstances, a murder is a murder. At first Jack was trying to convince himself that it was merely an act of self defense. That he was putting all of those poor folks out of their misery. But soon he realised that he was lying to himself. It was _him_ who attacked first. He was the one who was conscious of his action. He was the one who did it willingly. He was the murderer.

He should have been sick with himself. But he was not. Perhaps Andrew Ryan was right. Perhaps Jack really _did_ like it here. And _that_ was what horrified him.

* * *

_“A man chooses, a slave obeys. A man loves, a slave hates. A man loves, a slave hates. A man forgives, a slave goddamns. A man is humble, a slave is arrogant.”._

Jack had obeyed every single one of Atlas’ orders, his only choice being whether he should spare the lives of the Little Sisters or harvest the ADAM out of their small bodies. The only people he had ever loved were proven to be a lie, and he despised Atlas – or should he say, Frank Fontaine – for telling him the truth. He had no-one to forgive, but he had condemned Andrew Ryan – his own father – nonetheless. And all along the journey through Rapture, Jack had grown cocky, _knowing_ that his enemies would not stand a chance against him, and the lone man had caught himself in many occasions showing them that mistake with_ glee._

_“Would you kindly?”_. Heh. As if it was a simple _phrase_ that had turned him into a slave. He was a slave from the very beginning, a slave to his own mind.

He hoped that Dr. Tenenbaum would help him change that.

* * *

He found himself blinking, incomprehensive. That – that little girl was offering him the city? She was offering him _Rapture_? Did he really deserve to sit on the throne of this ruined city, marvelous even when it was a shadow of its former self? Was he worthy?

Jack took the genetic key from the girl’s hand. This key could destroy Rapture and take _everything_ to the bottom of the ocean with it. The Little Sister included.

He was a slave not too long ago. Did he really have the right to call himself a _king_ now? No. Only one man had ever the right to call himself king in this forgotten city. And it was certainly not Jack.

_“Son, you were born to do great things.”_. How ironic that he was remembering that false memory right now.

There was only one way for him to go. Up.


End file.
